


Home-wear

by Soak



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Ashe has been a lost child for a long while now, Commitment, Domestic Fluff, F/M, Post-Blue Lions Route (Fire Emblem: Three Houses), Post-Canon, Tattoos, bout time he finally gets what he deserves
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-16
Updated: 2020-07-16
Packaged: 2021-03-04 18:00:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,275
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25320529
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Soak/pseuds/Soak
Summary: Ashe has finally arrived in Brigid after five long years of fighting. There, a promise made in Fódlan rears its head once again, one he's more than willing to keep.
Relationships: Ashe Duran | Ashe Ubert/Petra Macneary
Comments: 5
Kudos: 31





	Home-wear

**Author's Note:**

> 'Tis a drabble inspired to be more than it is. I really liked the idea of Ashe getting his Brigid markings and I wanted to revisit that again.
> 
> I guess this can be considered a continuation of The Two Fliers, but you really don't need to have read it. Just my own headcanon running rampant, as usual.

Ashe paused before the ornate carved door, the edges traced with markings and an alphabet he was slowly starting to understand. He just needed a moment to catch his breath; goddess, the air was so thick and humid in Brigid. Even a morning jog had soaked through his shirt, not even halfway through his route. It was now a damp bundle in his hands.

With a push, he entered the room. His room. _Their_ room. It still felt weird.

Petra looked up at him from her desk, in lighter garb than she had in Fódlan--an airy top in an off-white color and a simple dark skirt, both still with purple and red flourishes. There was an important difference between home-wear and casual-wear on the archipelago, a custom even the royalty strove to follow. The home was a place of respite, and that meant easier clothes to manage the heat in. 

"There you are." She smiled as turned towards him. "I am surprised you are understanding _éidaí análaithe_ so soon."

"Hmm? Breathing... clothes?" he translated slowly. Then he looked down, remembering he was just in his shorts. "Oh, right. Um, well, it was hot this morning so I figured..."

"I am not minding." Petra bit her lip, making a whole show of running long stares over his chest.

His face flared hot. "P- Petra, come on. I'm all sweaty and gross." They'd only been together for a few months now, and after some initial tip-toeing, she'd been all too keen on finding ways to make him squirm.

"To me, that is even more enjoyable." She looked back up at him, with a self-satisfied grin and sparkling eyes.

He sighed. "You're hopeless." Ashe turned away, mostly to hide his burning cheeks, and placed his shirt in a hamper. 

He heard her chair scrape along the floor, but no footsteps--she was always too quiet on her feet. Two arms wrapped around his chest from behind. " _Tá bróneim_. I should not have been teasing--there is an important question that needs asking."

Ashe exhaled, letting his body relax. " _Nátí buartha_. What is it?"

Her chin settled on his shoulder. She always smelled faintly of the sea. "The inks have arrived--we must be applying them soon. Are... are you still sure?"

He reached down, tracing over her hands with his own. "I am. You did a great job before, and if anyone is doing it permanently... it has to be you."

Petra hummed happily, the vibrations running along his back. "This is meaning a lot to me. Thank you, Ashe." She kissed the base of his neck. "Now, you should be bathing--your skin needs to be clean before we can start."

Ashe found he'd grown all too comfortable in her embrace. He groaned, his weary body protesting at the thought of leaving. "I don't know... this is nice too."

She chucked, from deep in her chest. "Yes, but... you are still sweaty, and it is getting into my shirt. If you are staying for longer, I will have nothing to wear while we are working."

"That- that's a terrible threat." His face felt hot again, trying to speedily brush through the images in his head. "And also I know you have more shirts-"

Petra slid away from his grasp. "Go." A hand slapped his ass.

Ashe yelped, scooting off towards the bathroom. "Fine! Fine. Goddess, you're so pushy sometimes..." Still, he was laughing to himself as he closed the door.

\--

Relaxed and refreshed from a cool bath, Ashe settled down on his bed. Their bed. He'd get over it sometime. 

Petra pulled her chair over, setting a few glass jars of dark ink on the nightstand. Nearby was a deep wooden box, as long as her forearm. Rummaging inside, she produced a salve of some kind and applied it over his arm.

"To help your skin heal and retain the color," she explained as she worked. Her voice trembled a little. "We will be starting on your arm, and- and then we can be working on your face."

"Okay." Ashe looked up at her. "Don't be nervous, all right?"

Petra set her lips in a determined line. "I will be trying. Even with much observing of the process, it is still... concerning me."

He gave her a reassuring smile. "I trust you."

She stared at him for a moment, her eyes tracing up and down his face. Then she nodded, letting loose a long exhale. She pulled a needle from the box, dipping it into the dark sapphire ink, and leaned over him. Petra set to work.

Technically, they were using the wrong color. As reflections of the soul in Brigid beliefs, the ink should've matched his green eyes. But then again, Petra wasn't supposed to bring a man of Fódlan home either. Her grandfather tried fighting her for days, and days more when she refused separate rooms. She had been forbidden from lending her support to the Kingdom of Faerghus, as he later discovered.

And yet it was there, under the cerulean banners outside Enbarr, that she painted his marks for the first time. It was with some leftover shield paint that had come off days later, but the seal with the spirits had already been made. Petra said they gave him the strength to help take down the Empire. He agreed, and when he could finally wear it for good, they both decided it shouldn't change from how it was that fateful morning.  
  
Brigid was free now, in no small part from his efforts. At least, that's what Petra said, and what Petra told him to say if anyone remarked on his looks.

Blue markings worked better, anyway, he had mentioned. If she still insisted on starting his order of knights, the Blue Sun, then it fit to be matching their name. She had agreed. The spirits had a soft side sometimes, she added; they often liked when things were color-coded.

Though in truth, none of that reasoning mattered much. The excitement for today had been building from the moment they sent for his inks. It was a commitment; to his new country, but mostly to her.

\--

His face buzzed with pain as he studied himself in the mirror. The soreness in his arm had left hours ago, but even the awe of seeing his new marks couldn't keep reality away. It spiked as he gently traced a finger along the lines, leaving a trail of sparks.

"Ashe!" Petra hissed from behind him. "You cannot be touching it. The skin must be allowed time to heal."

"S- sorry," he mumbled. "It's just... I still can't believe it."

Three dots, as small as his pupils, ran straight down under his right eye, over his cheekbone. From each, a thin horizontal line pulled away to his hairline, tapering off at the end. He glanced down at his arm, then behind him to Petra. The markings along their biceps were the same, twin bands with waves and dots between them. Hers, a rich maroon that had always fascinated him; and his, a deep blue that swirled like the depths below.

Petra came up beside him, interlacing their fingers. She leaned against his shoulder, pressing her head into his neck as they both kept staring. "Me neither."

Unlike before, he didn't shy aware from her gaze moving up and down. It felt warm wherever it went, all converging and swelling in his chest. The sight before him--his reflection, with Petra close and his markings returned--had a sense of finality to it. Destiny achieved, perhaps.

He smiled. His eyes grew misty. Just maybe, he was finally home.


End file.
